Speak No Feelings
by Gondola
Summary: Rated M for sexual things. Human AU. PrusAus Nazi Germany, WWII. A simple love between a Jewish man and a Nazi in training. Their love tests the barriers of allegiance and propaganda as the war rages on around them.


**HE'D BEEN **watching his brother all day, waiting for him to crack. Today was going to be the day, he was sure of it. For all the ruckus the Italians had been causing, his brother had still managed to keep his composure, and had tried his best to simply go about his training as he usually would. When the Italians had first arrived, however, he'd known that eventually, the other man would snap.

They'd arrived to be trained along with these new German recruits, as Italy had been suffering losses all over Greece, and it was finally decided that the Italians would have better successes if they were just trained with Germans. That way, they'd be trained up to par with the rest of the world. Gilbert knew that most of the Germans, along with his brother, considered the Italians to be incompetent little brats, but Gilbert could tell they were just unwilling to go to war. While the Germans felt this superior need to go to war and reign victory in Germany's name, having been fed all that garbage for most of their lives, the Italians were in a state of turbulence that made them unfit for war. He could understand; what sense was there in dying in a war you had no wish to fight? If everyone else had that same lack of motivation as Gilbert, then they would all be just as misbehaved as him _and_ the Italians.

His brother had been squaring his shoulders all day, ducking away from the Italians' racket, and although it was already night time, Gilbert was still waiting. It was as though he were running a bet on when the man would crack, and he had the insider's information.

He climbed up the ladder to his top bunk and got into bed, yanking back the covers and jumping in between them. The material was itchy and uncomfortable, and hardly able to keep out the cold. When he laid in it, it was like sitting in a potato sack. Gilbert turned over and scratched his arm, shutting his eyes and trying to get to sleep. The lights weren't out yet, but they were about to be, if his brother had anything to do with it. Fresh air was seeping in through the cracks of the door, and Gilbert yanked his covers over his shoulders.

Tomorrow would be Saturday, and then the day after that, obviously Sunday. That meant good food, beer, and a warm bed. It was only warm because it was made to be, however.

"_Schweige_!" shouted a man from below, shutting the rest of the barrack up. All eyes turned down below Gilbert's bed, watching the broad German figure as he made his way into his bed. Gilbert grinned, throwing off his blankets again and peering over the side of the bunk. There it was, the breakdown, and he'd guessed right on it. He stared and waited for the man to open his eyes. Finally, blue eyes met his own red ones.

"Vhat?" the German finally said.

"Did somezing piss you off, _Bruder_?" he snickered, his grin seeming to widen. The other German man ignored him, rolling over to turn his back to him. Gilbert looked past him, to the Italian that stared at Ludwig with the biggest, most terrified eyes. He gasped, before opening his mouth and screaming.

"He'a looked at'a me! Don'ta hurt'a me! Please, I'ma just a poor'a Italian man, I don'ta have any'a money! Please, I'a just ate!"

All at once, the barracks erupted into an Italian riot. Laughing, Gilbert crawled back into his bunk, bringing the blankets around him again and smiling up at the ceiling. He could deal with this for another two nights. Maybe that certain Italian was already frightened, and that alone was enough to cause an uproar. Sunday, he'd be home again.

Reveille sounded and Gilbert groaned himself awake. He rolled over in his itchy bed again, tossing and turning just as the other soldiers did. Not Ludwig, though. He always stood right out of bed and began his morning routine. He was "an example to other soldiers," and the officers treated him that way. Everyone treated him that way. He had a lot of weight to carry on his shoulders, but he carried it well. Gilbert stuck his head down towards the other's bed. He was still asleep? How could he still be asleep?

"Ludvig," Gilbert said, waving a hand towards him, "Vest? Vake up, Vest!" He dropped down over the edge of his bunk, jumping off a pebble he'd landed on and gripping his foot. "Ow! Ach, Vest, vake up!" He gave his brother a shove, still balancing on one foot. Gilbert turned to the time. Well, Ludwig could probably afford to sleep another couple of minutes. He looked tired, anyway, and stressed.

Gilbert grabbed his pants from its storage, putting those on and then returning to his bunk. He opened up his pockets, looking for anything to entertain him while he wasted his time, and found a long strip of yarn. Gilbert tied the two ends together, then twirled the yarn about his fingers. He ducked down towards Ludwig's bed again. "Hey, Vest, put your finger zrough zis!"

The other kept on sleeping. That was unlike him. Gilbert frowned, removing one hand from the string. Using his newly-freed hand, Gilbert grabbed onto the railing of his bunk and jumped down again. "Vest!" Gilbert shook his shoulder slightly. "Vest, vake up, you have only got-" he looked at the time again, "-ten minutes." He turned to his brother again, frowning, then released his shoulder. "Vhatever. You vill vake up."

Gilbert bent to gather up his uniform, which stayed in a jumbled mass in its storage. He had no particular desire to keep it straightened out. He put on his wrinkled uniform, wiping a hand over the cinches. There was a thud, and Gilbert turned to his dazed brother.

"You are finally avake," he commented. His brother moved his eyes to him.

"Vhat? Gilbert? Vhat time is it?" Gilbert watched as his brother removed his blankets, standing from the scratchy sheets.

"7:55," he spoke up, looking up to the clock, then back to Ludwig. "I vas trying to vake you up, but you vould not budge. Zink you can get ready in five minutes?" It was simply miraculous, the speed at which Ludwig went about getting ready. Five minutes later, his bed was neatly made, the covers unwrinkled. His outfit was pulled together, the speed from a constant routine aiding the German man as he multitasked. Gilbert held out his brother's jacket, the man taking it gratefully.

"I am impressed," raising a brow at the now fully dressed man, Gilbert smirked slightly. "You did zat really fast," he moved to stand to the left of the bunk bed he shared with his brother, while Ludwig moved to the right of it.

"Everyvon, at attention!" Gilbert fixed his position, straightening up in an attempt to imitate his brother's perfect posture. His shoulders fell back and squared, and he watched the officer walk through the corner of his eye.

Ludwig was busy straightening up a nearby Italian, as if the boy's posture could somehow affect his. Gilbert quickly looked ahead, removing his eyes just in time. "Beilschmidt," Gilbert let his eyes wander as the officer stopped in front of his brother. "You look tired today."

The inspection of Ludwig's things started. They were always singled out, Gilbert knew, due to Ludwig's dedication. The officer was looking for any slip up on Ludwig's part, to make him the bearer of the boot, if only just once. Never had they found anything wrong with what he did, though, and today was no different**.** The eyes of the officer slid up to the second bunk, and the frown on his face deepened.

"Vhat is zis mess?" Gilbert's face didn't move an inch as he was addressed, keeping his expression stone cold. "Vhat are you, a child? No breakfast," the officer turned, moving back along the line and towards the barracks door. Gilbert groaned once the officer had exited the building, his body wilting as he let his back bend.

"I do not understand, Vest," he rubbed at his face. "You voke up only five minutes before, _und_ you vere still able to get everyzing in place."

"You just do not try hard enough," the German responded. Gilbert sat on his brother's bed, ignoring the angry Italian that was starting to speak to Ludwig. It wasn't every day that Gilbert was forced to skip breakfast, but it wasn't an abnormal occurrence. He messed up enough for their superiors to keep an eye on him, and never before had he proved them wrong. He just didn't care enough to do as he was expected, and for that, he was punished.

"I vill see you in training, _Bruder_," Ludwig commented, before walking out with a few other men.

The barracks slowly started to empty as his comrades left to get their breakfast. Seeing no reason to leave yet, Gilbert waited a while and played with his yarn. Checking the time again, he stood up and made his way outside. Putting a hand up to cover his face, he winced as the sun touched his white skin. Already, he could feel the painful burning as it started to seep in.

He ignored the burning, moving the stand in his place and waiting for roll call to begin. Gilbert turned to his brother as Ludwig made his way to his side, grinning at him as he felt something fall into his pocket. He could always rely on Ludwig to help him through his breakfastless mornings. The training began as normal, and Gilbert moved ahead of his brother. Casting grins behind him, he watched as his brother's face changed, eyes narrowing at him as if to say he shouldn't be looking back, but forwards instead.

The training wasn't any different than the day to day routine they were used to doing by now. It was rigorous, pushing the men to their limits. War was a hard time for everyone, and the superiors felt that it would be better to introduce their soldiers to pain before it was forced upon them.

"Vhat ze hell happened to you?" Gilbert asked his brother as he moved to stand by him, his hands on his knees.

"Italians," Ludwig replied. Gilbert looked past his brother, finding two more panting soldiers.

"You made friends?" Gilbert grinned again, watching the two Italians.

"Parasites," Ludwig answered, "I do not even know zeir names."

"F-Feliciano!" the lighter haired one piped up. The two brother's finally looked towards them, Gilbert still hunched slightly to catch his breath.

"_Was_?" Ludwig stared at the boy that has spoken up.

"My'a name," the Italian still had his hands on his knees as he continued to try to catch his breath. "It'sa Feliciano," Gilbert looked between a stunned German and an affable Italian, before grinning at them.

"Vell, looks like you did make some new friends, Ludvig," he clapped his brother on the back, squeezing his shoulder. "I am his older more avesome _Bruder_, Gilbert," he held out his hand to shake with the Italians. Feliciano reached out for it, but the other slapped at it before they could meet.

"Don'ta touch him, Feli," the boy snapped. Gilbert raised a brow at him.

"But'a Lovi, he'a seems nice," Feliciano whined. "What if'a they want to be'a our friends? Lovi, we'a need friends," the Italian pouted. Lovino just scowled.

"No'a we don't. Now, let'sa go, Feli. We need to'a go take a shower before'a the _stupido_ Germans get'a there!" he grabbed Feliciano's wrist, starting to pull him along. Feliciano whined, but waved to the German men that watched him.

Gilbert turned to his brother. "Showers, zen?" he asked, giving his brother another grin. The other shook his head slightly, ducking it and then starting towards their barrack. Gilbert sighed and followed him. At least lunch was soon. He reached into his pocket, testing the bread that had been placed there some time ago, and then removed it.

He looked at it, then broke it in half. The bread was rather filthy now, and slightly crumbled, but he put it in his mouth, anyway. His mouth immediately felt dry, as if the bread had soaked up all of his saliva. He tried to spit it out, just to give his mouth a chance to moisten again, but the grains stuck to his tongue. The food here was awful. Apparently, this individual compound was not as important as others, being in some indescript place in the South. Maybe it was expected that Southern Germans (and perhaps their newly-annexed, Austrian counterparts) would only do so well in the war. At least, Gilbert figured that.

The rest of the day went by decently quick. The training was harder than normal, not allowing the soldiers that wanted to slack due to Sunday's day off any leeway. Gilbert moved to the barracks, kicking off his boots when he reached his bed. The feeling of soldiers marching pounded in his chest, and he could feel excitement electrifying the air around him. People were looking forward to rowdy fights in the bar, races in the lakes, and overall, freedom from training, but Gilbert was just looking forward to home. He kept grinning, looking up at his brother as he moved to sit next to him.

"Ready for bed?" he asked his brother, turning towards him. "Only a few more hours,"

Ludwig looked at him. "Just go to bed," he said, turning to his covers. Ludwig rolled his eyes, laying down as his brother began to laugh.

"Here I go," Gilbert grabbed onto the railing again, lifting himself onto his bed. He got into his covers, then shoved them down again, scratching his skin. At least he wasn't really sunburnt. He smiled to himself, shutting his eyes, and stuck his arms behind his head. The beds were just long enough to fit Ludwig, so certainly they were long enough to fit Gilbert. He stretched out, smiling still, and let the hours pass.

The reveille sounded the next morning, and Gilbert jumped out of bed as if he had been awaiting the trumpets. He dressed himself into his uniform, then rushed to fix his bed and make it as good as his brother's. The punishment for insubordination today was a round of training, and he couldn't risk that. Not with home's call beckoning to him.

He made Ludwig check over everything, then stood at attention with the other men as their superior officer started his daily rounds. "Perfect as always, Beilschmidt," the man commented, before looking up towards Gilbert's bed. He frowned, inspecting it carefully. "Now, soldier, vhy is it zat you fail to make your _Bett_ zis nicely everyday?" the officer asked, not expecting an answer. The man left after he inspected a few more bunks, and the wave of excitement that had preceded the man enveloped the barrack again.

"Vest, come on, let us hurry to ze Wagen," Gilbert grabbed his brother's arm, starting to pull him towards the door. Once out of the barrack, Gilbert turned to his brother. "Zey vill say yes to you," he said, looking up at him, "so you should go ask for it. I vill vait for you right here." Ludwig narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, then nodded and went to retrieve an auto. As soon as Gilbert turned back, two Italians bounded up in front of him.

He gave them a wide-eyed look. "Where are'a you going?" asked the light-haired one, squinting at the light reflecting off Gilbert's hair. "Everyone'a leaves during this'a day, why does'a everyone'a leave?"

Gilbert grinned. "You mean you have not heard? Ve get Sunday off. Zey let us go to town on Sunday, too," he explained, looking past Feliciano for a moment to give his glaring brother a smile.

The other only huffed. "Ve, Sunday off?" Feliciano kept squinting. "Where'a do you guys'a go?"

"Ve go home," Gilbert blinked. "Ve actually live nearby, so ve go home every_ Sonntag_." He smiled to himself. All men looked forward to Sunday, for obvious reasons, and him included. Feliciano rocked on his feet, his hands clasping behind his back.

"Can'a we go'a with you?" he smiled up at Gilbert.

"Feli!" Lovino hissed, grabbing his arm. "You don'ta know anything about'a these people, don't ask'a to go home'a with them," he snapped. Feliciano whined, looking back at his brother.

"But'a Lovi, they seem'a so nice!"

"Ja, you can come vith us," Gilbert interjected, ignoring the complaints of the darker Italian boy. "Ve have plenty of room in ze house, und it vould be a nice change of pace to bring home some new people."

There was no arguing anymore between the Italian brothers. As they quieted down, Ludwig returned, frowning and raising a brow at his brother. "Vhat is going on?" he questioned. Gilbert looked back at the Italians, explaining what had occurred between them, and that they would be coming home with them. Ludwig stared down at the other two, but the golden eyed Italian no longer seemed afraid of him. Gilbert moved to the car, getting into the passenger seat and rolling down the window.

"Let us go already!" he called out. "Hurry up, Vest!" the brother started to make his way to the car, with the two Italians they were taking home for the night wandering after him. Once they were all situated, the car was started, and the trip began. It took no more than twenty minutes to drive into town.

"Ve should stop first," the driving German spoke up. Gilbert groaned.

"Nein, ve can just come back," he frowned at Ludwig. "You can come back vith Grossvater, or somezing. I do not vant to stop right now," he turned his gaze back out of the open window, tapping his fingers on the outside of the car. Ludwig narrowed his eyes at his brother, but didn't pull to a stop at the local bar. He kept the car moving, slowing it to stop in front of a simple, undecorated house. The Italians bound out, looking up at the house with wonder.

"We'a haven't been to a German'a house before, have'a we, Lovi?" Feliciano smiled, looking at his brother. Gilbert put a hand on his head, ruffling his hair, before moving past him. He was practically running to the front door, grabbing it and throwing it open.

"Ve are home!" he called to the still house.

Two pairs of eyes looked up. One man was already on his way out the door, standing halfway in between the kitchen and the living room. Relaxed now, he eased into the chair closest to him, letting out a sigh of relief and touching two fingers to the rims of his glasses. "How many times have I told you to knock?" asked Alaric, standing from his own chair. He walked around the table, grabbing the door from Gilbert's hand and looking through it.

Satisfied to see Ludwig, Alaric was about to move away from the door when he spotted the two Italians. "Who are zey?" Alaric asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Italians ve invited along!" Gilbert grabbed a chair, sitting in it and giving a grin to the figure behind him. "Zey are friends of Ludvig."

Ludwig waited for the Italians to enter before shutting the door. "Not my friends, I hardly even know zem." He watched the Italians settle in. One stared at the Austrian.

"Mr. Roderich?" questioned Feliciano, staring at the man with wide eyes.

The Austrian jumped. "_Du_!" he exclaimed, his own eyes widening. "And your brother, too!" His head snapped to look at Ludwig. "Vhere did you find zese two?"

"At ze camp," Gilbert explained for Ludwig. He put his feet up on the coffee table, looking at Roderich. "Did you not know? Ever since ze Italians kept losing all of zose battles, ze Germans have been training zem," he shrugged, leaning back. Alaric walked over, moving Gilbert's feet from the coffee table. The albino made a face up at him, but didn't move to replace them. "Ve have been training vith zem for ze past few veeks."

Roderich heaved back into his seat, his glasses slipping down his nose. "At least-"

"Mr. Roderich!" Feliciano jumped from the doorway, grabbing hold of the startled Austrian. He shifted, trying to slip away from the Italian but making little effort to actually remove himself. He sighed and looked away, scowling to himself and keeping his gaze from any German's eye.

Alaric turned to his grandsons. "Zere is food in ze kitchen," he said, "zere should be enough for everyvon, but if not, ve vill make more."

"Vhat is zere?" Gilbert asked, leaning back in his chair. His head fell back to look at his grandfather. Usually when they came home, Alaric and the Austrian had made dinner and dessert, respectively. Though, Roderich never cleaned up after himself, and it was mostly Ludwig who cleaned up after him, despite the fact that Gilbert was the one who ate all the dessert.

"Zere vas not enough meat at ze market to make much," Alaric explained, "it was too expensive. _Aber_, ve have _Schwein, Kartoffeln, Knödel, und auch Kuchen_." Alaric looked at the Austrian on his last word.

Gilbert grinned, looking over at the Austrian, too. "Zere is only von zing in zis house I vant to eat,"

The man reddened and tightened his arms over his chest. "If you vant to eat, you vill go und make do vith vhat Herr Beilschmidt made you. Honestly, can you not be more respectful?" He turned away again, his legs crossed now, too.

Ludwig was rounding up the Italians. "I don't'a want'a your stinky German food!" complained one, trying to move past the German, "I want'a pasta and'a pizza and not'a your food!"

Gilbert pushed past the group and got his own plate. Save for the Italians, this was the usual scene. There was a surplus of food laid out in the kitchen, and Gilbert worried in the back of his mind that both his grandfather and Austrian skimped on their own meals to make Sunday's special. He could tell Ludwig worried, too, because he ate sparingly until one of the other men got their own plates. Unless the food was rationed out between the four of them, he wouldn't eat correctly.

Now that there were two more mouths to feed, Gilbert knew his brother would hardly take any food tonight. Gilbert looked at the food, thought better of it, and took enough to spread out on his plate. Just enough to make his plate look full, and then maybe everyone else would leave something behind for him to eat.

The beer was already sitting out for them, Gilbert took one bottle and went to the table. Alaric looked at his plate, then at Ludwig's, then at the rest of the boys and frowned to himself. Gilbert ignored his glances and stuck his fork in his mouth, grinning as Ludwig walked out with three plates.

"You sit here," he told the Italians, trying to corral them into their seats, "just sit. Sit. Sit. _Setz dich_."

"But'a I want to sit'a next to you, Ludi," the lighter hair Italian whined. Gilbert started to laugh, looking at his brother.

"Ludi?!"

"_M_-_mein_ name _ist_ Ludvig!" the German stuttered. "It is not Ludi!"

"Can'a I sit'a next to you?" Feliciano didn't seem to be paying attention to Ludwig's complaints. The German stared at him for a few seconds, then gave in with a sigh.

"_Ja_, I suppose so…" he said as he sank into a seat.

The darker Italian ate with a constant pout, but Feliciano ate gratefully. He talked at Ludwig through mouthfuls, and Ludwig pushed napkins in his face. Most of the German's remarks were on proper etiquette, and something about soldiers, and he couldn't eat like this on the battlefield, and then cleanliness, too.

Gilbert paid only half attention to their conversation, since most of his time at the table was spent either scarfing down his food or giving the Austrian behind him half-glances that were only returned every-so-often. He gave his grandfather a few looks, too, and found him in another chair, away from the table. His grandfather mostly brooded in the corner, anyway, but sometimes he recognized that look in Ludwig's face, too.

"_Alles fertig_!" Gilbert exclaimed, standing suddenly from his chair. He startled about half of the men in the house, but grabbed only one of their hands.

"Vhat are you doing!?" Roderich snapped, following him up the stairs. "You cannot just snatch me on ze arm like zat, vhat if I had fallen?" Most of what Roderich said was complaining, anyway, so Gilbert learned to ignore him until they were alone. "Vhat if I had vanted to eat?"

"You can eat later," Gilbert said, closing the door after him and rolling his eyes. He let go of his hand. "Just calm down." He put his hands on Roderich's hips and leaned in.

Roderich met his lips with restraint, but had leaned in with practice. They no longer stumbled in the dark, or missed mouths for cheeks, or guessed at limbs. Gilbert pushed him towards his bed and Roderich fell back on it, his arms wrapped around Gilbert's neck to bring him with.

Once these covers had smelled familiar, of his own scent, but now they were of a scent he forgot every week until he was in it again. At first they stayed on top, lips moving against each other until they were caught in teeth, but as Gilbert worked his hands into Roderich's clothing, the other began to draw them out and over his body. As his own hands felt over Gilbert's chest and removed his uniform, first pushing off that heavy jacket and then slipping up his undershirt, he placed the covers over Gilbert, too, and hid them both in the fabric.

Gilbert kept in between Roderich's legs, running his hand over that smooth, scholarly skin, hooking his fingers under his knee and drawing his leg over his own hip. The first sound was made, a gasp of a moan, and Gilbert ran his fingers from Roderich's knee down to his calf, lengthening his leg until it stretched past his hip and allowed Gilbert some entrance. Roderich looked up at him, and they both paused, watching each other's eyes until they had savored the moment.

Gilbert put his hand on Roderich's waist again and slipped his fingers down, pushing two fingers into him. Roderich gave a soft grunt, his hips jumping slightly and staying raised until Gilbert had worked his fingers a little longer. Soon Gilbert replaced his fingers with him, and Roderich's mouth opened to breathy moans. He was always quiet, no matter how his body twisted and screamed for more. It was understandable, and meant for both their safeties, but Gilbert wished it could be like before. Roderich wasn't as afraid then, of anything.

Roderich's body rocked with each thrust, and the bed groaned under their thrown weights, until each of their bodies shuddered with release. Slowly releasing a breath, Gilbert carefully laid by Roderich, being careful not to jostle him too much. Their bodies came close together, with Roderich's head ducking into Gilbert's chest.

Gilbert's arms encircled Roderich's body, and Roderich's arms did the same. As their bodies cooled off, Roderich began to twitch slightly. He pushed Gilbert's feet away. "You are taking up my space," he said in a murmur.

"Zis is my space. Zis is my bed." Gilbert murmured back into Roderich's hair.

"I use it." Gilbert didn't argue anymore, running his hand up and down Roderich's back. The other's body shifted, hesitated, and then pressed closer to Gilbert. He opened his eyes. This room was his, but Roderich's scent lingered all over it. He was the one who stayed in it, until Sunday came, but Gilbert was the one who owned it, ever since he came to his grandfather's house. It seemed so unfamiliar when he was in it alone, even with his belongings strewn where he had left them, but with Roderich, it was warm and comfortable again. With Roderich in his bed, everything was just as he wanted it to be, and he was home.


End file.
